


Donguri

by Elle_Smith



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24733540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Smith/pseuds/Elle_Smith
Summary: A short piece about Odin Lowe and his young protégé. This is an excerpt from a longer (discontinued) 2009 fic I once posted on ff.net ("Kaifuku"), but it can be read as a standalone piece.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	Donguri

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excerpt from a longer (discontinued) **2009** fic I once posted on ff.net ("Kaifuku"), but it can be read as a standalone piece. I just wanted to share a sweet kiddie Heero tale, even when if it's REALLY ancient! This is years before I came up with my whole Adin Lowensky and Seiki Clark headcanon.....
> 
> Throwback Monday, anyone? ^^;

"Iya da!" The small infant screamed, hysteric. In an attempt to find protection, the toddler quickly ran to hide behind the sofa.

Bare little feet padded lightly against the floor. The child was dressed only in a pair of underwear, face red from screaming and cheeks soaked with tears. Long locks of brown hair plastered to a tearful little face. A pink ribbon hung by a thread from the toddler's long brown hair.

Odin Lowe stood at the center of his apartment, gazing at the small infant, feeling completely lost.

Since he couldn't leave the child by her mother's corpse, he had planned on cleaning the blood off her and then dumping her on the Colony's Social-Services. However, when he had taken off the blood-stained dress she'd been wearing, he was stunned to discover that the infant was actually a _boy_.

Lowe ran a hand through his blond hair, upset. His orders on the matter were clear; any male member of the family had to be eliminated. Perhaps he would have been able to execute the boy if he'd been older, even a teen, but an infant? That was unacceptable. He simply couldn't bring himself to do it. 

Granted, he _could_ hand the job over to someone else in Genrō, but the boy's death would still be on his conscience. No; that was not an option. Even _he_ had red-lines which he wouldn't cross.

Being in the Trade for over fifteen years, Odin Lowe had killed too many to keep count. Taking so many lives had dulled his regard for human life. He didn't care who he killed – a father, an uncle, a nephew, a son... the Targets were nameless, he didn't care who they were. All he knew was what Genrō told him, and that was enough of a reason to pull the trigger.

He didn’t kill for arrogant reasons like money. Odin Lowe worked for Genrō because he believed in the Cause; he believed in what Genrō did to insure there was balance in the world. Eight years ago, back in A.C. 175, he had been ordered to fire a bullet that changed the course of history. It was the first time he was able to witness firsthand how Genrō were changing the world. After Heero Yuy's death, history slowly began to shift. The world was changing and he had been the one to initiate it.

Genrō knew what they were doing. There was a reason behind each kill; especially Yuy's. Genrō knew what was necessary in order to keep the power balance. They chose their targets well. Odin knew there was a good reason going after Hideki. However, he found it hard to see the point behind killing the man's son. The infant was not a threat to Genrō's plans; he was just a little boy.

Sighing gloomily, the blond assassin tore his gaze from the floor and looked up towards the sofa. The little boy was peeking behind the couch, his large, tearful blue eyes studying him warily.

Slowly, carefully, Odin knelt down on the floor, so he would be in eye-level with the boy. He reached his hands forward, opening them in a welcoming gesture (he refused to call it a hug). Blue eyes followed his every movement. He tried to smile, though his heart felt too heavy to put on a genuinely reassuring expression.

A pair of small, blood-stained hands hesitantly reached to hold the side of the sofa. The infant leaned sideways and carefully peeked ahead, making sure it was safe.

"It's all right," he said as softly as his frustration allowed him, "You can come out."

Blue eyes blinked, clueless. The child didn't understand a word. Odin remained motionless so not to frighten the boy. He waited for him to come out of his hiding. When the boy seemed to hesitate, Odin motioned him to approach. The infant shook his head and quickly vanished behind the sofa.

If Lowe hadn't been so aggravated by the situation, he might have smiled, amused by the boy's innocent belief that a sofa could offer him protection.

"You'll have to come out sooner or later," he called, trying to lighten his tone of voice. Perhaps a friendly tone will ease the boy's fears and lure him out of his hiding.

Not even a squeak came from behind the sofa. With a sigh, the blond assassin stood up and slowly walked to the sofa. He leaned forward and peeked over the backrest, looking for the boy.

A pair of sleepy, tearful blue eyes turned in his direction. The toddler was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees, looking tired and miserable. He seemed so small, so completely out of place. What was he going to do with him?

"So," he forced a smile back on, "No comprende inglés, huh? Parlez franחais?" ( _Spanish:_ You don't understand English, huh?; _French:_ Do you speak French?) The man was smiling at his own joke.

The child stared, dumbfound.

"Guess not," Odin muttered, racking his brain for any other pieces of language he knew. "How about Russian?" he suggested grimly.

The child yawned, rubbing his eyes groggily. Odin's eyes narrowed with sorrow as he noted the dry blood on the boy's small hands. The youngster's petite body was smeared with his mother's blood. The boy had refused to leave her side, hanging on to her by tooth and nail, kicking and crying when Odin tried to take him away.

"C'mon," he let out with a tired sigh and bent down to lift the boy into his arms. The child didn't protest, apparently too tired to fight him anymore.

"Let's get you cleaned up before bed," he spoke as softly as he could, for he felt the fragile body trembling fearfully in his arms. The child was terrified of him.

He carried the boy to the bathroom. After undressing the child he carefully placed him inside the tub and turned on the showerhead. The white porcelain was soon flooded with bloody water pouring from the boy.

The small child merely stood still and stared numbly at the red water. His blue eyes seemed glazed-over with either shock or fatigue. Odin carefully scrubbed the blood off with a sponge, an uneasy feeling stabbing him in the chest as he held the boy's small bony wrists. He was so... _small_...

Once he cleaned most of the blood away, Odin filled the bathtub with lukewarm water, thinking a bath might help to calm the boy further. The toddler simply sat inside the tub, unmoving and indifferent, staring at the water. His shoulder-length brown hair plastered to his slender back, gathered into chunks held together by clotted blood. Odin reached for the shampoo bottle and hurried to rinse the boy's hair from his mother's blood.

"Your parents had me fooled," he told the boy, speaking quietly as he scrubbed the shampoo into his hair. The thick brown locks were knotted together so tightly that he couldn't unravel the knots even when the blood had been washed away. "It saved your life, you know."

The infant remained silent, sitting with his shoulders slumped miserably. He looked so small, so fragile. Looking at him, Odin felt compelled to soften his touch, his movement became gentle. He took the child's small hand and worked to clean the blood away from under his tiny fingernails. The boy's head was bowed the whole while, staring numbly at the bubbles forming in the water.

Odin looked at him mournfully; the boy was so small... so helpless. For a moment he considered completing his mission and going on with his life. It would be so easy to simply shove his little head underwater and keep it there until he died. Drowning the boy would make things so much easier for everyone.

He reached a hesitant hand towards the boy's head, daring himself to go through with it. However, the moment he placed his hand over the back of the boy's head, he knew he couldn't do it. The boy was so small... The palm of his hand was even bigger than the boy's head. Sighing, he withdrew his hand away.

"I don't know what to do with you, kiddo," he confessed as he gently picked the boy up and out of the tub. He placed him on the floor and reached for a towel. The child blinked sleepily and continued to stare at the floor. Odin knelt in front of him and toweled him dry, ruffling his long hair with the towel. It was still knotted together in chunks.

"I'll have to cut your hair," he informed the boy as he wrapped him in the towel. He reached for a pair of scissors by the sink. When he took hold of the boy's hair, the toddler gasped and pulled back.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, I have to," he apologized softly and placed a thick chunk of wet brown hair between his fingers and prepared to cut it.

"Iya da..." the toddler mumbled sadly as the scissors snapped through his hair. He watched the chunks fall to the floor, his blue eyes flooding with tears.

"Kami wo kiranaide... Mama mitai na kami ga hoshii..." he cried brokenly, fat salty droplets sliding down his cheeky face. "Mama ni kaeritai... uchi ni kaeshite..." (Don't cut my hair... I want hair like mommy's... I want to go back to mommy... I want to go home...)

The child cried helplessly as Odin continued to cut his hair. While the blond assassin couldn't understand much of what the child was saying, the word 'mama' certainly stood out. His heart clenched painfully at the sound of the boy's broken little voice. 

He finished cutting the lumps of knotted hair and put the scissors aside. The child's hair was now short and messy, wild spikes of brown hair sticking in every direction. He'd have to give him a _real_ haircut some other time.

The child was weeping quietly, sniffling every now and then. Odin lifted the small infant into his arms and carried him to the only bedroom in the small apartment – his bedroom.

"You can't fool people with just your hair," he spoke quietly, more to himself than to the boy, "We'll have to do something about your eyes."

He sighed and placed the boy on the double bed in the center of the room. The child rubbed his tearful eyes tiredly as Odin turned to the closet and pulled out a large T-shirt.

"See, the McKenzie girls, they had purplish hair but it was easier to hide," he continued speaking casually to the child as he walked back to the bed, "They dyed it so we won't recognize them," he turned to dress the boy, gesturing at him with the T-shirt. "I know that some of your kind wore contact lenses, but I'm not sure you can wear them at your age."

The little boy raised his hands up so the man could slide the shirt easily over his head. Odin gave him a small, sad smile. He was glad to receive some cooperation. It seemed like the boy was slowly realizing that he had no choice but to oblige him.

The T-shirt hung sloppily from the boy's slender shoulder. It was huge over his tiny frame; it made him appear even _smaller_.

Odin found himself overwhelmed with sudden anxiety. Was he really going to keep the boy around? He wasn't supposed to be taking care of him; he wasn't even expected to keep him _alive_. But if he couldn't bring himself to kill the child – then what other choice did he have? If Genrō found out... it would be the end of them both.

The man sighed deeply. He'll deal with it later. It had been a long day, he was tired. He will start thinking of a solution in the morning. There had to be a way out of the mess he'd put himself in. If only he had let his associate kill the boy during the mission...

No. No! He was unable to let an innocent child die then and he won't be able to let it happen now. He'll think of something. There had to be a solution. Perhaps with proper training, Genrō will let him keep the kid around. Maybe they could find good use for him one day. Surely there was a better way of dealing with his kind rather than simply killing them one by one.

What the Hell?! What was he thinking?! Suddenly he was questioning _Genrō?_

Angry with himself, Odin swiftly lifted the covers aside. The child's head snapped in his direction, blue eyes frightened. The man sighed, trying to appear calmer. He gestured at the boy to lie down.

The toddler obeyed silently and crawled under the covers, lying on his side, curled into a fetal position. Odin tucked him in carefully. The child was looking at him warily, his large, red-rimmed eyes fearful and curious at the same time.

"Don't worry," Odin whispered, "I'm not going to kill you."

The child blinked sleepily.

"Get some sleep," Odin told him and turned to leave the room. At the doorway, he turned around and gave the toddler a final, sorrowful, look. The child looked back, his blue eyes full of too many emotions for him to decipher.

"You're going to hate me when you're older, kiddo," Odin whispered sadly and turned off the lights. He left the room, leaving the door half-open in case the boy needed him.

_* * *_

The microwave beeped and Odin reached to open it. He pulled out a Chinese Take-Out carton. The small white carton was soaked with oil at the bottom and filled with what used to be fresh noodles with beef and green peppers. Now it was an oily mush.

"You should have had it when I ordered it," Odin berated the boy as he placed the food on the kitchen table.

The toddler was sitting on a large suitcase, placed on a chair so he could reach the table. He was dressed in the same large gray T-shirt the man had clothed him in the night before. His brown hair was a spiky mess, his blue eyes puffy from crying and his small features forlorn. He stared silently at the carton but didn't take a move towards it.

Odin took a seat in the chair across of the boy's. He handed him a fork, expecting the toddler to start eating. After all, he'd been the one to step into the kitchen looking for (he supposed) food.

The tot had refused any food or drink since he woke up that morning. He spent the whole day lying in bed, weeping while hugging a pillow. His hunger must have drawn him out of the room. Odin was just taking a beer out of the fridge when he turned around and there was the boy, standing silently behind him.

He nearly freaked out at the sight of a child standing in his kitchen. The little boy seemed much disheveled, his eyes tearful, his tiny features were miserable and overall he still seemed so... _small_. It was unnatural for someone so fragile and tiny to be around him. Odin was yet unable to grasp the consequences of rescuing the boy.

While he had been surprised to see the boy in the kitchen, the child simply stood there and looked at him with his big blue eyes. Odin figured that the toddler was hungry and, with much annoyance, he reheated the Chinese take-out he'd ordered earlier that day.

Looking up to check if the boy was eating, Odin was disappointed to see the rascal hadn't made a move towards the food. He was staring again, obviously upset about yesterday's events. Lowe wondered what was more difficult for the infant: waking up in a strange place, finding that his parents were nowhere near him or that his hair had been trimmed. He wondered how much the boy understood of what was going on.

He leaned two elbows on the table, bending forward to take a good look at the child. He heaved a long sigh.

"I know you're feeling sad," he said slowly, trying to sound reassuring, "but you still have to eat."

He nudged the take-out carton closer to the kid and handed him the fork again. The child didn’t even reach to take it from him. Instead, he bowed his head and stared down at his fingers. Lowe's patience began to wear thin.

"Listen, kiddo, I'm not going to play daddy with you," he warned the boy, looking at him sternly, "Either eat or go hungry – I don't care. Just don't _nag_ me when you starve, got it?"

Tears flooded the boy's blue eyes. He sniffled loudly, pouting miserably.

Unlike the day before, Odin didn't have enough patience left in him to deal with the boy. He'd spent the day trying to figure out what to do with him. When no acceptable solution came up, he became frustrated and angry. And now the kid was crying again... he couldn't take it anymore!

"Shit, kiddo, why are you crying?!" Odin demanded, becoming frustrated, "I didn't yell at you!"

Silent weeping turned into small hiccups and sobbing. The boy was fully crying by the time Odin finished his complaint.

"Look," he said, trying to speak softer this time so the boy will quit the damn whining. He reached for the fork and shoved it into the carton. He served a forkful of noodles to the boy's lips.

"I'm only going to do this _once_ ," he informed the child, knowing full well that it was a lie. He'll feed the boy as many times as necessary as long as he ate something.

"Open up, c'mon," he encouraged, nudging the fork towards the boy's mouth.

The child swung his hand up and shoved Odin's arm away. The fork flew out of the man's hand and onto the floor with a metallic clatter.

Pouting angrily, the boy threw the carton off the table as well. It crashed on the floor, noodles spilling everywhere.

Odin jumped out of his chair, furious. "You stubborn little _bastard!_ " He had a good mind slapping the brat across the cheek, but he stopped himself in the last minute. Instead, he took a deep breath, calmed down, and began cleaning the mess off the floor.

"I guess I had it coming," he muttered to himself, carefully scooping mushy noodles from the floor and into the trashcan. "You have every right to be mad at me."

The child didn't even look at him from where he sat. He was staring ahead stubbornly, an angry, yet determined, pout on his little face.

After clearing the mess the youngster made, Odin decided to take a different approach. He walked to the living room and pulled out a Palm-Computer from his traveling bag. As he walked back to the kitchen, he pressed a few commands. He settled back in the chair in front of the boy, took a small glance at the PDA, and then looked the boy straight in the eye.

"Watashi wa Odin to iimasu," he said slowly, his accent terrible, as he gestured at himself. "Anata no namae wa nan desu ka?" (I'm called Odin. What's your name?)

The child's eyes softened with surprise. He looked up at the man, gaping. However, he didn't answer the question.

Odin resisted the urge to smack him into talking. Instead, he punched in a few more keys, read the translation and looked up at the boy again.

"Anata no namae wo oshiete kure." (Please tell me your name.)

The stubbornness returned to the boy's eyes. His features hardened and he looked away spitefully, crossing his little arms over his chest.

The Russian assassin heaved a long, frustrated, sigh. He inputted another sentence for the PDA to translate.

"Wakarimasu ka?" (Do you understand?) he tried again. The child refused to even _look_ at him.

He keyed in another sentence into the PDA and looked up at the boy, trying to conjure up an honest sorrowful expression.

"Anata no kami wo kiru koto wo gomenasai." (I'm sorry for cutting your hair.)

Tears returned to the boy's blue eyes. He sniffled loudly, still refusing to look at the man. He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, but more of them continued pouring. He wept silently, sniffling frequently, his nose running badly.

" _Oh_ _damn_..." Odin let out and hurried to grab some tissues, "I said I don't want to play the daddy part..." he reminded the infant as he wiped the boy's nose, "I already raised a brother, believe me, that didn't turn out so well..."

The child continued crying silently, shedding silvery droplets onto the kitchen table. The Russian assassin found that he didn't know what to do. Suddenly tired, he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He felt as though all the air had been deflated out of him. Never before had he taken his 'work' home with him. His apartments were his safe haven; they were a place where he didn't have to think about the people he'd just killed. The boy was an unwelcomed addition. He was a reminder of all that was wrong with the world; of what was wrong with his life.

"...you're going to hate me when you grow up," he mumbled into his arms, disheartened.

He sat by the table for a good hour or so, his face buried in his hands until he was nearly asleep. The child wept and wept, silent but miserable. Odin simply waited for him to quiet down; he didn't know what else to do.

Eventually, the child calmed. The sniffling stopped and so did the small hiccups between quiet sobbing. Odin peeked from between his fingers, looking carefully at the boy.

The infant stared back silently. His blue eyes shone with the remaining tears, the last of them sliding down his cheeky little face.

"Are you hungry?" Odin asked, hopeful. The child merely stared. Too tired to feel frustrated, Odin reached heavily for the PDA. He turned back to the boy.

"Onaka ga suikimashita ka?" (Are you hungry?) He asked slowly, the words were very alien to his lips.

After a short pause, the child carefully nodded his head.

Odin heaved a long, weary, sigh. "You know you just threw away the last of the take-out," he reminded the boy, his voice tired rather than angry. "I'll have to try to _cook_ now."

He got up and began rummaging around the kitchen. The child's eyes followed his every movement. Odin pulled out a pack of spaghetti from the pantry and threw them into a pot of boiling water.

"This is about the only thing I know how to make without ordering take-out," he informed the boy as he began making tomato sauce out of canned crushed tomatoes.

"My younger brother," he said as he opened the freezer and pulled out a box of frozen meatballs, "he used to thrive on this stuff. It was the only thing I made that he agreed to eat, so I figure it's edible for children your age."

He warmed the meatballs in the microwave and finished preparing the sauce. When everything was done he placed a plate full of steaming spaghetti & meatballs in front of the boy.

"Eat this or I swear to God I'll kill you," he muttered and sat back down. He handed the tot a new fork.

The child took it hesitantly. He poked the food with the fork, examining it as though it was an alien saucer that just landed before him. He poked a meatball and rolled it back and forth across the plate until it fell onto the table.

Odin sighed, irritated, and took the fork from the boy's tiny hand.

"Like this," he said and rolled the spaghetti onto the fork. The child watched with curious blue eyes as the man brought the fork to his mouth and sucked the spaghetti off it, making a long, funny, suction sound.

The child giggled, amused.

Odin frowned; surprised to hear the small, childish, chuckle. Apparently, the tot enjoyed seeing him making a fool out of himself.

"Just like Nicolai," he muttered, shaking his head, "All of you brats are the same..." There was something sad in his gray eyes, which turned into something dark and angry before it disappeared.

"C'mon," he said and rolled more spaghetti onto the fork, "Your try." He served the food to the boy's little mouth.

The infant tried to imitate what he'd just seen and sucked the long pasta off the fork. He also made a funny sound, which drew another small fit of laughter. He snatched the fork from the man's hand and began rolling and sucking the spaghetti with delight.

"Don't forget the meatballs," Odin reminded him, though amused, "They're homemade you know." He settled comfortably into the chair and watched the toddler eat his dinner.

Halfway through the meal, the boy suddenly stopped eating. Odin straightened back in his seat.

"What is it _now?_ " he asked, annoyed. He frowned when the boy turned around to look in the living room's direction. He was staring at the front door.

"What?" Odin asked, confused. He stood up, also looking at the door. "Do you hear something?" Carefully, the assassin reached for a handgun which was tucked under his belt. He drew it out, unlocking the safety as he slowly walked towards the living room.

The doorknob was turning, even though the door was locked. Someone was breaking in. Odin stood behind an armchair and aimed the gun at the door. It opened slowly. He sent a quick gaze towards the kitchen, making sure that the kid was safe, before training his eyes on whoever was entering the apartment. He fixed his aim on the approaching figure as the door opened fully.

A woman entered the small apartment. She was a tall, dark brunette, dressed in an elegant white business suit and a white overcoat hugging her feminine figure. White gloves adorned her delicate hands, along with an expensive, diamond plated silver wristwatch. Her hair was long and lush, flowing down her shoulders in thick curls. She closed the door behind her and turned to face Odin, her features obscured behind a pair of large, fashionable, white sunglasses.

Odin released a breath of relief and lowered the gun. "If it isn't the devil herself," he muttered, shaking his head as he tucked the handgun back into his belt. "Henrietta, to what do I owe the honor?"

The woman gave him a slow, sly smile. She pushed the expensive sunshades up to expose her large, almond shaped eyes. Her dark eyes gazed at him with dismay.

"You botched up the mission, Lowe," she spoke in a low, husky voice, carrying a light Latin accent. "Hideki got away. I'm here to collect the penalty."

Odin frowned. "He got away? But Vlad went after him! The man didn't miss a target in his life!"

Henrietta seemed displeased. "Didn't you read the mission debriefing log? Vlad was working as a double-agent. He infiltrated our lines. It's most likely that he used us to get his hands on Hideki."

"What?!"

"Since you failed to notice that your partner was working against you, the fine will be doubled. We don't pay you to screw up, Lowe."

Odin was stunned to say the least. He had failed, big time. Now he was stuck with the brat, a large fine _and_ the guilt. _Great._

A loud clatter came from the kitchen. Something heavy had fallen to the floor. The woman's head snapped in its direction, her dark feline eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Were you so busy entertaining that you didn't have time to read the debriefing logs?" She asked poisonously, turning to Odin with a dark glare.

Anxious as he was, Odin couldn't come up with a convincing excuse. If she found out about the boy being there...

Henrietta gave him another sly, dark, smile. "What smells so good?"

"Uh, pasta," he mumbled, his heart racing a million beats per second.

"Hmm... you sure know how to spoil a woman, Lowe."

He tried to smile, but it came out all nervous. He became even more nervous when he noted that the woman was frowning in the direction of the kitchen.

"My my, Lowe, have you given up on the fairer-sex and turned to pedophilia instead?"

"What?!" He exclaimed, confused. He saw the woman gesture with her head towards the kitchen and his heart sank fearfully in his chest.

"There's a baby boy standing by your kitchen," she said with a low and dangerous voice.

"Shit," Odin cursed and whirled around. The tot was standing in the kitchen doorway, tomato sauce smeared all over his little face, his blue eyes watching them curiously.

Henrietta's frown darkened. She turned back to Lowe, glaring angrily. "He's Hideki's isn't he?"

"Look, I can explain," Odin hurried to say, his gray eyes suddenly fearful. "This is not a contract-breach, I can explain."

"I'll have to report this to Genrō," she continued, ignoring him, "They will _not_ be pleased."

"You don't understand," he tried again, attempting to keep his voice calm – maybe even angry – but inside he was close to panic. "Vlad killed the mother and... I didn't know he was a Talent. Hideki had us both fooled."

"We need to take care of this – _now_ ," Henrietta stated grimly. She reached a long, elegant hand into her coat's pocket and pulled out a small, silver handgun.

The toddler was still standing by the kitchen door, looking at her with large, inquiring, blue eyes. He seemed to be intrigued by the shiny object she was holding.

"Henrietta – he's just a baby!"

"If we don't kill him now we'll have to kill him later, it doesn't matter," she explained, though she made no move to point the gun at the little boy, "We should do it now, while he poses less of a threat."

The child seemed to have picked up that something was wrong. He took a step back into the kitchen, shying away behind the wall. He peeked at the two adults in the living room, his small features fearful.

"Put the gun down, Henrietta," Odin said slowly, "We both know you won't fire at a child. Even _you_ aren't that coldhearted."

"You don't know what he'll be capable of in the future, Lowe," she hissed harshly, "Genrō cannot allow him to live."

"Fine," Odin growled and stomped towards the kitchen. He scooped the boy up from the floor and the child gave out a surprised yelp. Grabbing the toddler by both of his thin arms, keeping him facing forward, Odin marched back towards the dark woman and shoved the boy in her face.

"Here – shoot him!" he spat angrily, rattling the small child. "I dare you to."

Frightened by Odin's actions, the small boy soon began crying. Tears streaked his cheeky face, his silent sobbing filling the room.

Henrietta studied the boy for a long while, the pistol still in her hand. Sighing, she placed the weapon back into her pocket.

"For God sake, Lowe, put him down. You're scaring him to death," she mumbled, looking away.

With a breath of relief, the blond assassin lowered the child back to the floor. The poor little thing was pale with terror. The moment his feet touched the carpet he ran to hide behind the sofa.

"It's going to be impossible to get him out of there..." Odin sighed, feeling sorry for the boy.

"You can't protect him," Henrietta pointed out, "We have no idea what kind of information Vlad sold, or who he's working for now. If Vlad knows about this boy..."

"He doesn't," Odin hurried to assure, "Hideki fooled us into thinking he's a girl. I have everything under control."

"This is for Genrō to decide." The woman turned to look towards the sofa. The little boy had just peeked to see what was going on. When he saw her, he yelped and quickly vanished behind the sofa again. Henrietta's dark eyes softened with compassion.

"What kind of a life he's going to have with you?" she wondered out loud, turning back to face Odin, "You can't raise a _child_."

"It's a better option than killing one," the man mumbled, running a hand through his short blond hair, obviously upset.

"Will it interfere with your work in Genrō?" She asked, skeptical.

"No, it won't."

"You still have Talents to eliminate. I'm here with your next assignment," she said, pulling out a white Disk-on-Key from her pocket. "You realize that the boy will be joining you as you kill members of his family."

The man sighed deeply, his gray eyes sorrowful. "Yes, I know," he mumbled sadly, taking the disk from her.

"I don't envy you," Henrietta confessed, casting another gaze towards the sofa, where the infant was still hiding. "He's going to hate you when he's older."

"Yeah, well, at least he'll have the chance to _grow_ older..."

The boy peeked once more from behind the shelter of the sofa, eyeing the two adults warily. The two were looking at him with a strange look in their eyes. It scared him so he looked away, ducking behind the sofa for protection. He wanted to go home already...

In the kitchen, a half-eaten dish of spaghetti and meatballs was slowly cooling on the table.

_* * *_

The day they first arrived to Earth, it was raining heavily. Torrents were pouring hard over the runways of Narita International Airport. The space-shuttle had some trouble landing, jolting quite a bit before it touched the ground. Odin feared that the toddler would start crying again (like he had during takeoff), but the boy was too busy looking out the window, clearly in awe by the rain.

After the shuttle had entered the atmosphere and the windows reopened, the child gasped with wonder. As they flew past the clouds, he could see the blue ocean and the Japanese archipelago below. He turned to look at Odin, his eyes wide with wonder, apparently wishing to share the magical moment with the man. Odin smiled at him and nodded his head, telling the kid that he'd already seen it.

Odin supposed that the tot had never been to Earth before. In fact, he was pretty certain that the kid had never seen the outside of his parent's apartment. He welcomed the boy to Earth, but the child didn't seem to understand a word he was saying and simply turned back to the window, gaping.

They stepped out of the Arrival's Terminal and onto the Narita Express platform. Odin held the boy's tiny hand so he would not get lost in the crowds swarming the train station. In his other hand, he was dragging a large suitcase, which was filled mostly with the boy's belongings.

Purchasing clothes for the little rascal had been one of the more excruciating things Odin had to face during the last two weeks, since he more or less adopted the boy. When the saleswoman offered her assistance and asked how old the child in question was, Odin could only reply that he was 'about yay big' while gesturing at his kneecaps. The woman smiled warmly and informed him that the child must be three-years-old and went to fetch him the right sized clothes.

He bought everything the shop's assistant told him he needed for the boy; including toys which he was informed were to aid in the child's development. Otherwise he wouldn't have bought them. The bill summed up to quite a large amount. He couldn't believe how much the child was going to cost him when he calculated the amounts he must spend in the future. To comfort himself, he bought a stylish Armani black leather trench coat, because who-knew when he’d have the money to buy such articles again.

Dressed in the expensive Armani coat over a pair of blue jeans and a gray sweater, the assassin gave out quite an elegant aura. Standing by Odin's side, his little head reaching only as high as the man's kneecaps was the boy. He was dressed in a dark blue duffle-coat over a denim jumper-overall and a bright and cheerful yellow shirt. The toddler was carrying a small children's bag over his tiny shoulders and holding a toy-space-shuttle he got as a gift during the flight.

The tot looked like any other kid Odin had seen around the airport, except for the large pair of sunglasses obscuring his blue eyes. Lowe couldn't think of any other way to hide the child's eyes during the mission. Genrō had agents everywhere. If one of them saw him with a blue-eyed Japanese boy, all of his efforts to keep the boy safe would be in vain. At least for this mission – set in Japan – he wanted to keep the boy's eyes hidden.

They boarded the Narita Express, heading for Yokohama. The kid took a seat by the window. When the lady on the speaker made the regular announcements, the child's head snapped up, surprised. He seemed to listen intently to both the Japanese announcement and the English translation that followed. Odin wondered if the kid was somehow trying to compare the two languages, since his little face was frowning in concentration. As the train began to move, the boy turned back to the window, studying everything behind a pair of sunglasses.

Odin wished the boy would try to speak with him, but no matter how much he tried to coax him into talking, even struggling to speak Japanese, the boy refused to mutter a single word. Odin figured that the boy needed more time to adjust, so he stopped trying so hard. The child will speak when he's ready.

The train ride was over an hour long. Odin's fatigue caught up with him and he fell asleep, leaning sideways. The child remained awake, gazing out the window with an interest that refused to fade. He seemed particularly awed by nature – green mountains, fields, trees and rivers that raced past them as the train sped through the Kanto region.

By the time they arrived at Yokohama, the rain had ceased. The two entered a taxi and headed towards Odin's newly rented apartment. The residence complex was located at the heart of the second largest city in Japan, close to Yokohama's foremost business district: Minato Mirai. The location was vital for his mission, but that was not the reason Odin chose that particular complex.

A large green park surrounded the state-of-the-art apartment building. A long avenue of lush Japanese Oak trees stretched through the center of the park, leading towards the building's entrance. The landlord had taken great pride in the fact that such a large park existed in front of the building, and that was why he charged an astronomical rent. Odin didn't mind, though. He finally had a chance to stay on Earth and he wanted to see some green around him.

Looking down at the boy, the assassin congratulated himself for a choice well made. The infant seemed ecstatic at the sight of the tree avenue stretching before him. Without hesitation – something that was very unlike the quiet little boy – he opened in a run towards the park. Odin paid the taxi driver and hurried after the boy. Heavy rainclouds still hovered above and he didn't want to get caught in the rain wearing his new coat.

He found the tot hunched at the feet of a large oak tree, sticking his little fingers into the muddy ground. Slowly, Odin approached and stood next to the boy.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a friendly voice, since the boy usually responded to him when he spoke softly. The toddler didn't answer, of course, and continued whatever he was doing, sorting out through some fallen leaves. He was getting his fingers all dirty, exploring the mud.

"Your parents didn't let you out much, huh?" Odin asked, knowing that there will be no answer. "That's understandable."

He sighed sadly at the thought, gazing down at the boy's bowed head. His spiky brown hair was tousled gently by the winter winds. He was actually quite adorable with the messy, amateur haircut. 

Odin placed his hands in his coat's pockets and waited for the kid to finish his exploration. _Kind of like walking the dog,_ he mused in amusement, which soon turned into a grim expression. _Nicolai liked to play outside with the dogs..._ he recalled sadly and shoved the thought into the dark depths of his mind. Nicolai was dead; there was no point thinking about the child, his baby brother.

Looking down, he saw the little Asian boy pick up something small and muddy from the ground. He brought close to his little face, frowning as he examined it closely. His small grubby fingers reached to clean the mud away from the little object. He smiled.

Noting the smile on the boy's face, Odin knelt down – careful not to dirty his Armani coat – and tilted his head aside curiously. "What did you find?"

The child showed him the little treasure.

"Donguri," he whispered in small, childish voice.

Odin's heart sunk with relief at the sound of his little boyish voice.

"Donguri?" he repeated slowly, gesturing at the small object the boy was holding. "An acorn?"

"Donguri ochichatta," the child whispered sadly, holding tightly onto the acorn, "Sabishiin no?" (Acorn fell. He's lonely?)

"Uh... I don't understand," Odin said, gesturing helplessly with his hands.

The child looked up at him, his blue eyes shining timidly. "Motte iku no?" (Take it?)

"Uh... yes," Odin mumbled, nodding. He had no idea what the child just asked of him. He was simply glad that the kid was speaking again.

The child stood up and placed the acorn in his duffle-coat's pocket. Odin got up as well and reached for the boy's hand. Once the toddler secured his tiny hand in Odin's hold, the two continued the walk back to the apartment building.

Looking down at the boy, Odin was amused by the way the tot's messy bangs bounced up and down as he walked. The bag he was carrying was also bouncing over his little shoulders. He was so small it was sometimes funny.

The child must have felt that he was being watched and turned his head up to look at the man. Odin offered him a warm genuine smile.

"It's good to finally hear your voice, kiddo," he said, pleased. The boy blinked, confused, and returned his gaze forward as they walked.

Odin remained silent for a while, trying to recall a sentence he had asked the boy many times before.

"Say, kiddo," he began the question, "Anata no namae wa?" (What's your name?)

The child's features hardened with stubbornness and anger. Like many times before, the boy pouted angrily and ignored the question on purpose. Odin figured that it was his way to show that he was still displeased with the fact that he had to stay with him rather than with his parents.

The man sighed, shaking his head with disappointment. "You know, kiddo, one day you're going to wake up and realize that you don't remember who you are," he warned, looking down at the boy as they walked. The child was still ignoring him, pouting determinedly.

"When that happens," Odin continued, "Don't come blaming me for not trying to get your name out of you while you could still remember it."

The threats fell on deaf ears; ears that refused to listen, ears that were also unable to understand. Odin sighed heavily and decided to give it one more try.

"So, you're going to tell me your name or not? Namae wo oshiete." (Tell me your name.)

The boy kicked a small pebble out of the way, angry.

" _Fine_ ," Odin snapped, annoyed, "See if I care."

The two walked into the apartment building.

_* * *_

Odin was one month into the mission, still working on surveillance before he could make his move. The Talents were always very well-guarded. They usually knew that they were being targeted by Genrō.

Meanwhile, the two had settled comfortably in their new apartment; twenty stories above the streets of Yokohama. There was a great view of the city from the balcony windows in the living room. The green park stretched down below, and in the horizon tall skyscrapers towered over the city, obscuring the view of the sea-port. Odin was less interested in the scenery. All he cared about was the direct view he had into a certain office building at Minato Mirai district. His target's office was only a telescope-view away.

The balcony windows were closed, but the curtains were open to reveal the magnificent view. Soft winter light flooded the living room as heavy rainclouds flew across a gray sky, some fogging distant buildings. Strong winter winds howled outside the window, shrieking as they raced past the building.

Inside the high-class apartment, Odin was sitting by the kitchen bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. There were various mail packages lying open before him, while numerous metallic objects lay scattered across the bar's surface. Holding an inventory list, Odin worked to sort out the parts lying before him.

The little boy was sitting on the polished parquet floor in the living room, keeping himself busy. A large flat screen TV was on, displaying some silly children's anime. The boy divided his attention between the television and his game. Whenever the anime characters made a fuss about something, he would look up intently at the television and laugh at the scene. When he lost interest, he returned to playing with the acorns he had collected from the park.

Whenever the child burst out laughing, Odin looked up from his work to watch him. He had noticed that the boy seemed much more at ease since they arrived to Japan. Hearing Japanese around him must have eased the boy's fears brought on by the sudden change of being torn away from home. Odin supposed that the tot felt comfortable now that he could finally understand what went on around him. He, on the other hand, still struggled with the language since the boy refused to say more than a word of English at a time.

The anime ended and some sort of current affairs show began. The toddler lost his interest in the television and returned to the pile of acorns lying on the floor. He had quite an impressive collection; 'an army of acorns' Odin had dubbed it. Each time they walked through the park the child would stop by an Oak tree and pick the prettiest acorn he could find. Odin had no idea what kind of games the kid made up playing with the acorns (while the toys he had bought the boy were raising dust somewhere), but as long as it kept him busy (and quiet), Odin didn't mind.

The assassin returned his attention to the task at hand. He had ordered many separate gun parts via mail to avoid detection. Now he had to assemble them back into complete weapons. The task was tedious, since there were many small pieces from many different packages and it was his job to find out what went where and how.

In the living room, the little boy was arranging the acorns in a neat row on the coffee table. Since the table's surface was made of glass, the boy enjoyed looking at the acorns from below the table as he reached a small hand up to arrange them. _He's a weird little thing_ , Odin mused, _always exploring new ways to see the world._ He supposed that it was understandable; considering the secluded life he'd been living so far, hidden from the world in his parent's apartment. Shaking his head, Odin went back to work.

After he arranged the acorns neatly, making sure they were in equal distance from one another and lying in a straight line, the boy began flicking them off the table with his fingers. One by one he flicked the acorns off the glass table, giggling delightfully as they flew across the room and fell to the floor, rolling around.

"Donguri korokoro!"[] he laughed enjoyably, his blue eyes sparkling with glee. He threw another acorn off the table, cheering.

"Donguri korokoro!" he called excitedly, clapping his hands and jumping up and down as another acorn rolled on the parquet floor, making a tapping and rolling sound. He hurried to throw a few more acorns, one after the other so they would all roll together.

He giggled with joy, bouncing up and down eagerly. "Korokoro! Korokoro! Donguri korokoro ~don buri ko!" He sang delightfully, throwing more acorns off the table.

Odin looked up from his work to see what all the fuss was about. He'd never seen the child acting so... his age. He wondered what chased his gloomy attitude away.

"Hey, kiddo," he called in mock-annoyance, "shizuka ni shiro. I'm trying to work here." (Be quiet.)

The child ignored him and threw the rest of the acorns off the coffee table. "Korokoro!" he called as they rolled, "korokoro! Don buri ko!"

"Oi, Donguri!" (Hey, Acorn!) Odin called again, and this time the child whirled around to face him, smiling sheepishly, probably knowing that he was doing something wrong.

Odin's face softened at the boy's wary smile. "Shizuka ni shite." (Please be quiet.)

"Asobitai!" (I want play!) the child whined, pouting.

"Go play in your room. Heya, ike." (Go, room) He returned his attention back to his work.

The kid went to collect his acorns. He held his shirt up to form a sack and gathered the acorns into it. He carefully approached the kitchen bar where Odin worked. He took one acorn, and, standing on his tiptoes, placed it at the edge of the counter top. He began arranging the acorns on the bar, one by one.

Odin watched the growing 'army of acorns' forming before him. He couldn't see the boy, just his little hand as he struggled to reach the tall table.

"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

"Issho ni asobu," (Play together) the child explained quietly.

Odin sighed. "Not now," he said, "I'm busy. Isogashii." (Busy)

Over the past two months he spent with the boy, Odin on occasion wondered if he really _was_ capable of raising the tot. He had assured Henrietta that he could do it without having it interfere with his job, but at times like this he was reminded that the boy demanded a lot of his time and attention. Taking care of him demanded that he be patient, gentle, caring and whatnot. Everything he hadn't needed to be since Nicolai died.

He could still remember the hurt on his little brother's face whenever he refused to play with him; shrugging him off by saying he was busy. The little boy always pouted sadly and walked away, shoulders slumped. The night he left to do his first job as an assassin, Nicolai wanted to play. Nervousness made him angry and Odin brushed the boy off rudely and ordered him to go to bed. The last thing he remembered of his baby brother was the way his little shoulders slumped sadly as he waddled back to his room, miserable. When he came back home, the last of the fire was consuming the building as firefighters fought to banish the flames. Nicolai's body was found the next morning, a scorched little corpse lying under the bed.

Odin felt bile climb up to his throat. He coughed to get rid of it and struggled to compose himself before sinking into dark, gloomy, self-loathing thoughts. He shook his head, refusing to sink into the torment of the past.

"We'll play later," he promised the boy, smiling sadly. "We'll go down to the park. Kouen, ato de." (Park, later)

The little boy heaved a sad, dramatic, little sigh and began clearing the acorns off the bar. His little fingers searched the bar's surface blindly, for even on his tiptoes he was too short to see. He then padded softly towards the balcony doors in the living room, and turned to examine the view and the clouds.

Looking up, Odin felt a small pinch in his heart when he saw the little figure by the window. The tot was a silhouette against the bright windows, a tiny little thing against Yokohama's skyline. The boy's shoulders were hunched sadly, he looked so small and alone. Odin wondered if the boy was somehow looking for his parents while staring out the balcony windows.

Dark thoughts of Nicolai returned to the assassin's mind, questions about the boy's last moments before the fire took his young life. Did he feel lonely too, looking out the window, waiting for his big brother to return?

The man's heart crumbled at the thought. He took a shaky breath, trying to keep strong.

"Hey, Donguri," he called softly. The child immediately turned around. Odin forced on a little smiled and motioned for him with his head to approach. "Come over here. Kite koi." (Come here)

The tot quickly ran towards him and halted by the tall bar stool he was sitting on. Odin bent to pick the boy up, placing him on his lap so they were sitting together on the stool. _At least_ this _boy won't have to feel alone,_ he promised himself.

The boy curiously scanned the small and strange pieces of metal scattered before him. His blue eyes lit up with delight when he noticed something he could recognize.

"Kin no donguri!" (A golden acorn!) he called out happily and reached for one. He brought it close to his face and examined it, smiling. "Donguri ureshii! Pikapika shite iru!" (Acorn is happy! He's sparkling!)

"That's not an acorn," Odin muttered and reached to take the bullet away from the boy. "Donguri janai. Abunai mono da." (That's not an acorn. It's a dangerous thing.)

"Abunai mono?" (Dangerous thing?) the child wondered out loud, staring wide eyed at the pile of shiny golden acorns lying on the table. He turned back to Odin, confused.

"Demo, kirei da... Doushite abunain no?" (But it's pretty... Why dangerous?)

"Uh, that was too fast. Come again?"

The child frowned, obviously unhappy. His blue eyes seemed distressed. He huffed to throw some messy bangs out of his eyes, childishly annoyed. He looked up intently at Odin. "Why... abunai?"

"Oh," Odin let out, secretly pleased that the boy tried to speak English. He was glad for any opportunity he had to force the boy to speak in English, since it wasn't often that he dared to speak the language. Odin had been the one struggling with Japanese, instead of the other way around. With time he had memorized a few words and phrases he used frequently. When the kid spoke to him, he usually tried listening for the few words he _could_ recognize, so he more or less knew what the brat was talking about. Ultimately _he'll_ end up speaking fluent Japanese, while the little rascal still refuses to speak a word of English.

"Um, it's dangerous because it can hurt people," he explained to the boy, "Wakarimasu ka?" (Do you understand?)

The child nodded. "Warui kin no donguri?" (A bad golden acorn?)

"Yes, very warui." (Bad)

"Doushite?" (Why?) He was looking at the man with large, curious blue eyes.

Odin assumed that the boy was asking why he needed the 'dangerous golden acorn'. He sighed. "I need it to do my job. Shigoto." (Work/Job)

"Donna shigoto na no? Waruin no?" (What kind of job? A bad one?)

Odin had to take a moment to figure out the fast stream of words. "Yes," he finally approved, "it is very warui. Totemo." (Bad; Very)

"Boku... tetsudatte mo ii?" (Can I help?)

"But I just told you it's bad _and_ dangerous," Odin pointed out. The kid was unbelievable! Did he understand _any_ of what he just told him?

"Demo... Donguri-san to asobitai..." (But... I want to play with Mr. Acorn...)

Odin frowned, debating with himself over the meaning of the long sentence. He recognized the word 'play'. Sighing, he handed the boy one bullet.

"Fine," he muttered, giving up to the boy's pleas, "I'll teach you how to load them into a magazine."

He reached for an empty handgun magazine and handed it to the boy.

"Just don't throw the bullets around like those damn acorns, got it?" he warned, waving the magazine in front of the boy's face. "No korokoro. Abunai. Wakaraimasu ka?" ([no] rolling around. It's dangerous. Understand?)

The child smiled, nodding. "Hai!" He reached his little hands to accept the empty magazine.

Odin showed him how to load the 'golden acorns' into the clip. The boy was bouncing impatiently on the man's lap, waiting for his turn to play with the 'golden acorns'.

Odin gave him three magazines to load and returned to his work, trying to assemble the handgun itself. Not much time had passed before the toddler placed three fully loaded clips in front of the man. He turned to Odin, an expectant look in his blue eyes.

The blond assassin was impressed by the speed in which the child managed to load the magazines, considering his tiny fingers and all.

"Tanoshii asobi da! Mada tetsudatte?" (Fun game! Still help?)

He had no idea what the boy was babbling about, but he still said: "Sure." The kid obviously wanted more work, so he obliged him.

Holding two parts belonging to a handgun, Odin handed the boy similar parts and showed him how to connect them. The boy imitated each step the man showed him and bit by bit a small pistol formed in his little hands.

The two worked silently, Odin teaching and the boy eager to learn. The child had to learn how to coordinate his little hands to use a miniature screwdriver. He bit his lower lip in concentration, struggling to work his little finger to screw the gun pieces together. Overall he assembled the gun with little difficulty, only dropping a few of the smaller parts every now and then. Odin was impressed, even awed.

"Hey, Donguri," he called as they worked to clean the barrels using a cylinder-shaped brush. The child turned to him, a question in his eyes.

"How come you can pick up on things so fast, but you can't speak a full sentence in English?"

The toddler shrugged and turned back to his work. He placed the brush down and reached for one of the magazines he'd loaded earlier. Using his tiny, greased-smeared hands, the toddler tried to find a place where he could fit the clip. He found how to secure the clip into the handle of the gun, concentrating deeply.

"English bad," he suddenly answered as he turned to Odin, showing him the fully-assembled pistol. "I'm not like."

Odin stared, too stunned to find his voice. It took him a minute to compose himself, though he was probably pale with shock. Henrietta wasn't kidding when she said that the boy will surprise him with his abilities.

"Damn _smartass_ ," he muttered and took the gun from the boy. "Don't play with guns."

The two worked together all through the afternoon, assembling the weapons.

_* * *_

Odin stood in front of the fresh fish counter at a local supermarket, holding a shopping basket filled with tonight's dinner. He eyed the selection of sea food with little keenness. Behind the counter, a middle-aged Japanese woman was waiting to take his order.

Standing by Odin's side, munching on a peanuts & chocolate candy bar, was the tot. Chocolate was smeared around his little mouth, also staining the collar of his colorful shirt. As usual, a pair of sunshades masked his eyes.

The lady behind the counter looked at the boy curiously, probably wondering what kind of a strange childish fetish made him want to wear the sunglasses inside the store, in the middle of winter.

As the toddler looked around to supermarket, the glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, exposing his curious blue eyes. The saleswoman smiled warmly.

"Oi, Donguri," Odin warned, casting his gaze down briefly, "megane." (Hey, Acorn, glasses)

The boy hurried to push the sunglasses up again, hiding his eyes behind the dark lenses.

"Chotto ookisugiru, ne?" (They're a bit too big, no?) the Japanese saleslady asked with amusement, looking at the boy fondly. "Kawaii kodomo desu ne..." (What an adorable child...)

"Yeah, well, try getting him to eat something other than chocolate and spaghetti..." the assassin muttered under his breath. The woman smiled kindly, obviously having no idea what he just said. He sighed and pointed at a nice-looking piece of Salmon fillet. "Are wo kudasai," (That one please) he said with his terrible Japanese accent.

The woman nodded and began packing the Salmon. He stared at it, somewhat disgruntled.

"I don't suppose you can give me a juicy steak instead, can you? All you people have around here is _fish_."

The woman smiled again, not understanding him but not showing it either. He sighed and looked away, back at the toddler by his side. The little boy was swaying back and forth on his heels, smearing chocolate all over his tiny face while looking pretty pleased with the world. Odin couldn't help but smile.

The woman handed him the packed piece of Salmon. 

"Domo," he thanked her and turned to walk away. He placed a hand on the child's shoulder, guiding him to follow.

"Guess what we're having for dinner," he said sarcastically, " _Again._ "

"Sakana!" (Fish!) the boy called happily; proud that he knew the answer.

"You nailed it, kiddo," the man praised, amused. They paid at the checkout and walked out to the parking lot, searching for Odin's black convertible.

"Demo... basuketi wo tabetai!" (But... I want basuketi!) the child chirped as they walked to the car.

Odin smiled widely. No matter how much he tried to teach the tot to say 'spaghetti', the kid still couldn't pronounce it. While most of his speech was intelligible to all, there were some words only Odin could understand, since he knew the boy so well.

"You want to have that _every_ night," Odin laughed and pulled out his car keys. 

However, there was no need for them because the car door was already open.

Instantly alert, Odin tensed and reached a hand forward to block the boy's path. The child stopped abruptly. He looked up, curious. His small face paled with fear as he watched Odin pull out a gun from under his shirt.

"Doushitan no?" (What's wrong?)

"Abunai, sagatte," (It’s dangerous, stay back) Odin whispered harshly, gun ready as he approached the open door on the driver's side.

A slim, beautifully tanned leg stepped out of the car, wearing a diamond ankle bracelet above stylish white high-heeled shoes. Once the perfectly carved pair of legs touched the ground, a tall, dark woman stepped out of the car. She was dressed in a white women's business outfit and skirt. Her long, lush hair flowed down her slim shoulders. She flipped her hair back and smiled slyly at the man pointing a gun at her.

" _Konichiwa_ , Lowe," she greeted with a low voice, "Fancy meeting you here."

Sighing, Odin lowered the gun. He looked around to make sure no one saw him, and covertly tucked the weapon back into his belt.

"The same goes for you, Henrietta," he muttered darkly, "You have a talent for breaking into my property."

The woman gave him a slow, sexy smile. "Nothing you own is _your_ property, Lowe. Remember who pays your bills."

She cast her gaze down, looking at the boy who was shying away behind Odin's legs, looking at her from behind a pair of sunshades.

"Fashionable," she commented dryly, "but it won't help you hide what he is." 

Feeling scared under her sharp gaze, the boy hid away behind Odin's knees. He only dared a little peek every now and then.

Henrietta frowned at the boy, then at Lowe. "How are you handling him?"

"We're doing all right," Odin said, nudging the boy closer to him protectively.

"He seems content," the woman pointed out, nodding.

"I think he is."

"Has he been asking questions?"

"Not yet."

"I see."

"What are you doing here?" Odin decided to take her attention off the boy, before she might say or do something to him. "I'm still on surveillance; I have time before I need to finish the job."

"I'm aware of that," the woman droned, still glaring at the boy, "I'm here with different orders."

"You're pulling me off the job?"

"No, I'm giving you an additional one," she gestured at the boy with her head, "Genrō wants him trained." 

Down below, the child raised his head to look up at Odin. The man appeared to be completely stunned. The boy was worried.

" _Trained?_ What for?"

"That is none of your concern. Genrō has future plans for him."

"But he's just a little boy, how can I train him?"

"The same way you were trained when you joined us: let him assist you in your missions."

"I was fifteen when I joined; he's only _three!_ "

"He's capable of more than you know," she pointed out matter-of-factly, a hint of hatred in her almond-shaped eyes. "These are your only options. You both train the boy and keep me updated regularly on his progress, or I'm going to shoot him through the head, right now."

To make her point, Henrietta reached into her pocket to reveal the tip of her silver pistol. She tucked it back in before anyone noticed and fixed a dark glare on Odin, daring him to refuse.

The blond assassin sighed deeply and bowed his head, looking down at the boy, who was holding onto the man's trousers, seeking protection.

"Fine," he whispered resignedly, his gray eyes sorrowful, "I'll do it."

"In that case, enjoy your dinner," the woman gave him a slow, satisfied, smile. "The fish smells _wonderful_."

She turned to walk away, her tall high heels tapping loudly against the asphalt.

Once she was a fair distance away from them, Odin turned to look at the boy. He too was watching her warily, the fear evident on his little face.

Bending down, Odin picked the toddler up to his arms and held him against his waist. The little boy wrapped his arms around the man's neck to steady himself. The sunglasses slid down his nose once again, Odin pushed them back up.

"Kowakatta ka?" he asked the boy. (Were you scared?)

The tot shook his head bravely, his spiky bangs swinging from side to side. "Odin to issho ni kara." (Because I'm with you.)

Odin offered him a sad smile. He adjusted his hold on the boy so he would not slip down. The two turned their heads to look at the woman as she disappeared behind the corner. 

"Eigo... warui..." (English... bad) the child mumbled to himself.

"Not necessarily, kiddo," Odin tried to lighten the mood by sounding a bit more cheerful. He put the boy back down and placed the groceries in the car. Once he secured the small infant to his child-car-seat at the passenger side, the two drove back home. The child was staring out the window throughout the ride, looking deep in thought.

"Ne... Odin?" he mumbled quietly, looking out the window. "Tu-re-i-ni-n-gu-tte nani?" (What's 'training'?)

Surprised by the question, the man turned to look at the boy. "It's... a game..." he said slowly, "We're going to play from now on."

The child seemed skeptical. He took off the sunshades and looked up at Odin with his big, innocent blue eyes. "Geimu? Donna geimu na no? Tanoshiin no?" (Game? What kind of game? Is it fun?)

Odin swallowed. He turned to look at the road again. "Yes, sure, lots of fun," he tried to sound excited about it even while he was glaring angrily at the road ahead. "You'll get to play with the kin no donguri." (Golden acorns)

"Hontou?" (Really?) the child seemed calmer at the mentioning of the 'golden acorns'.

Odin smiled sadly and reached a hand to ruffle the boy's already messy hair. "Yeah, Donguri, really really."

Reassured, the boy nodded and turned back to the window. The city of Yokohama reflected in his naïve blue eyes as he watched the world outside the car's window. He wondered if they'll be having the fish or basuketi for dinner.

_* * *_

Brussels: January A.C. 197. It was a sunny afternoon, merely two weeks after the Mariemaia Incident. In a small coffee shop, set in a narrow cobble-stone alley, slow French music was playing the background, filling the street with pleasant melodies. A delicious aroma of rich coffee and pastry filled the air. Outside the small café, a few round white tables were set. Between the guests sat a man, reading the newspaper over a cup of black coffee. He was dressed in an expensive Armani leather coat; his face was hidden behind the paper as he read. An ashtray full of burnt out cigarette buds was sitting next to the steaming cup of strong coffee.

The newspaper was a special edition, double in size compared to regular daily papers. In the days that followed the Mariemaia Incident, such large editions were a common sight. The headlines dealt with sketchy profiles about the Gundam pilots, along with pictures of them and their Gundams. There were various reports about their supposed whereabouts, since everyone was looking for them. The War Trials were to be held soon, and the pilots were facing charges along with many other military and government personnel.

Currently, there was only one pilot whose whereabouts were known. Gundam pilot 01 was being held in a military hospital in Brussels, recovering from the battle. Due to his serious condition, he was the only pilot who didn't have the ability to escape. The paper reported about the possibility that the young pilot was currently comatose and under the custody of the former 'Queen Relena'.

The steady sound of high heel shoes echoed throughout the narrow street. The resounding tapping approached the coffee shop and stopped when it reached the table where the man was sitting. Sighing deeply, the man folded the paper. His dark black hair was tousled by the wind, some bangs obscuring his gray eyes. He looked up at the woman standing in front of his table. As usual, she was dressed elegantly in white, her long, lush and curly brown hair falling gracefully over her slim shoulders. A pair of white, fashionable sunshades hid her eyes.

"Henrietta," the man greeted with a sarcastic smile, "You look as stunning as ever."

The dark woman smiled politely and took a seat by the table. A waiter eyed her in question but she shook her head 'no'. She turned back to the man, who was now lighting a cigarette.

"Black hair doesn't suit you," she said dryly, examining the man, "But the new face is a nice change."

The man snorted and continued to smoke quietly. He noted Henrietta was eyeing the paper he'd been reading. She turned back to him.

"I hear you go by Smirnov now. It's an interesting choice, to go back to your roots," she said casually, like an old friend, "And, with your new face you could almost pass for your own brother. Was that a deliberate choice – _Nicolai?_ "

She smirked and he glared, exhaling smoke at her deliberately. She simply waved her hand elegantly in front of her face to chase away the smoke.

"Dare speak that name again and I'll rip your heart out throw your throat," he hissed dangerously, a dark look in his eyes. 

"Then you shouldn't have chosen it," she pointed out.

"Then again," he snorted, "You might not _have_ a heart."

"Enough with the clichés," she ordered, serious, "I'm here on business."

"I never thought otherwise," Nicolai muttered and crushed the cigarette bud into the ashtray. He cast his gaze down at the newspaper, staring at the headlines. He sighed.

"I gather Genrō wants me to do something about the boy."

"Yes," the woman confirmed, smiling darkly, "He played his part, he's no longer needed."

"He's the last of his kind."

"All the more reason to eliminate him. He's too much of a risk to the Balance. He can compromise the peace."

"He's the reason there _is_ peace," Nicolai growled angrily, "your logic is flawed."

"Genrō's logic is never _flawed_ ," she reminded him coldly.

Nicolai snorted. He picked up his coffee to have a sip and glared at the woman. "Is that all?"

Henrietta leaned back into her chair, crossing her legs. "No," she said, pulling a white Disk-on-Key from her suit's pocket. "Before you kill him, there are a few loose ends you need to take care of. I have the mission plan stored here."

She handed him the disk and he took it, still scowling.

Henrietta stood up and prepared to leave. Before she did, she turned back to look at the man. The man looked up at her from where he sat, still glowering.

"You knowingly sold your soul to the devil," she reminded him dangerously, "don't start complaining now when it's becoming uncomfortable."

With that said, she left, her high heels tapping loudly on the cobble-stone pavement. Nicolai watched her retreat, his gray eyes shining sorrowfully.

"It became uncomfortable a _long_ time ago, Henrietta..."

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

The hospital corridors were dim and quiet. The halls were empty, only a few nurses were on duty, manning their stations. Nicolai walked quietly past one nurse station and a nurse looked up, to see who was there after visiting hours. When she noticed the young woman leading the man through the halls, she relaxed and resumed reading her book.

"I'm here all the time," the young woman explained quietly to Nicolai, "They're used to me."

"I see," he whispered, looking ahead, at the back of the girl's head. Her long blond hair was swinging slightly as she walked. She seemed a lot shorter than she appeared to be on television. She only reached as high as his shoulders. It made him wonder how tall the boy would be. If he was capable of standing, that is.

Relena Darlian stopped when they reached the last door down a long hallway. She turned to look at him, raising her chin up, as though trying to appear taller.

"He's in here," she said. Her cerulean blue eyes shimmered warily. It seemed that she was still debating on whether or not she could trust him. Nicolai couldn't blame her. After all, he _did_ drop on her out of nowhere, claiming to be a ghost from Heero's past.

'Heero'; it was strange that the boy ended up with such a name. Fate was ironic in so many ways.

"It's okay," Nicolai said quietly, trying to ease her mind, "I assure you that it's as hard on me as it is on you." He smiled sadly. "I haven't seen him in almost ten years."

She nodded, thoughtful, sympathetic. Slowly, she opened the door.

The first thing that registered was the steady beeping of the machines. A heart monitor and a respiration machine filled the air with the sounds of artificially maintained life. The room itself was very dimly lit and it took some time for his eyes to adjust. Carefully, he took a step into the room. He felt as if he was treading on holy ground.

Across the room was a single hospital bed. A lone, slender figure lay perfectly still under soft sheets. Various wires and electrodes connected the slim figure to the life support machines. The only movement was the mechanical rise and fall of his chest, induced by the respiration machine.

"It's hard to see him like this," Relena confessed quietly. She was still standing in the doorway, her eyes showing that she was almost afraid to enter. "I'm shocked to see him like this each time I walk into the room. Heero is so strong... seeing him on that bed... it's... unreal."

Nicolai nodded slowly, showing his sympathy. He walked the few remaining steps towards the bed, and took a good look at the teen for the first time.

The boy's eyelids were closed in a coma induced sleep. A respiratory tube went into his open mouth and down to his lungs, to keep him breathing. The teen's features were pale with sickness. He did not look healthy at all. Nicolai sadly noted that it was no longer the cheeky face of a child. The boy's face had gotten sharper and thinner over the years.

The rest of his body was tucked under a thin blanket, which still allowed seeing the outline of his muscular frame. His bare arms lay limply over the bed, electrodes connected to a few fingers, monitoring his heart rate. His hands appeared strong, well-trained, but now the long fingers lay lifelessly across the bed, not even twitching.

Nicolai stared numbly at the teen's hands. They were so much bigger than the hands he remembered, the tiny, childish fingers that sometimes had difficulty loading a gun for they were so small.

Hesitantly, he reached a hand for Heero's, but stopped, uncertain. He could feel Relena's eyes on him; she was studying his every move. He took a shaky breath and reached to touch the teen's hand. It was cold, soft, and lifeless. He withdrew his hand, unable to stop the dreadful feeling in his chest.

"The doctors can't say if he'll ever wake up," Relena sighed and took a step into the room, hugging herself as though cold. "He's been like this since Christmas."

"Can you believe this boy used to smile whenever he saw an Oak tree?" he mumbled, smiling down at the lifeless boy. "He liked to collect acorns..."

Relena came to stand by his side, looking forlornly at the boy on the bed. She was still holding her arms around her chest.

"I'm afraid I can't imagine Heero smiling at anything," she confessed sorrowfully.

"He used to," Nicolai mumbled, "a long time ago."

"I think that some of the doctors are plotting to kill him," she changed the subject, her features hardened with anger. She turned to look up at Nicolai, her cerulean eyes intense. "You said you can help him."

"Yes, I can," Nicolai replied and turned back to look at the boy on the bed. He reached for his cold hand and held it apprehensively. He studied the teen's pale, expressionless face. No response. Why would there be?

"Hey, Donguri," he tried whispering just in case, a sliver of hope still residing somewhere in his heart. The boy's eyelids didn't even flutter. He was completely unresponsive.

Sighing, he let go of Heero's hand, his gray eyes grim.

"I'm going to take him out of here," he promised Relena, "I'll need money and medical supplies."

Relena nodded decisively. "Anything you need," she whispered, looking helplessly at Heero's unmoving figure. The ex-pilot's chest rose and fell in an equal rhythm, but it wasn't natural. The machines were the only thing that was keeping him alive.

She wanted to take his hand, but unlike Nicolai, she couldn't bring herself to touch the limp, fragile-looking hand. She was afraid Heero might disappear if she dared to touch him. It was enough that he was here, somehow alive. If she could give him the time and chance to recover, then that was enough.

Turning to Nicolai, she looked up at the man with a silent plea in her eyes. "Promise me you'll keep him safe."

The man nodded. "I promise."

_* * *_


End file.
